Charge of the Damned
by XviZoR
Summary: A short story about a war on a forgotten brown ball of a planet.


Commissar Brand surveyed the battlefield, the grey mass of old trenches, mud, bodies and vehicles stretching for a good mile infront of the now inhabited tenth defensive line, every single centimeter won by the Orks paid in full, green corpses lay under the mud almost everywhere you could look, and from afar he heard a shout, a shout of violence, a scream for blood.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH"

The guttural noise sounds out over the uninhabitable deadman's land, to Brand's left and right stand a good two thousand Kriegian Guardsmen, unblinking under their customary gas masks, silence reigning over his part of the trench like any other over the entire length, barrels of heavy bolters, lascannons and autocannons stick out of defensive positions, almost two thousand Lucius Pattern Lasguns lay on the parapets.

Brands grabs his Voxbead and shouts into it.

"Guardsmen! Today you repay your debt to the Imperium, today we fight alongside the Emperors might made manifest, we hold the Line!"

There is no cheering, there is no noise except Brand's amplified voice all over the trench.

"Guardsmen! affix bayonets!"

In a single fluid motions, all Guardsmen not occupied with heavy weapons raise their guns, pull out their bayonets and fix them to the front of their Lasguns, behind are Watchmasters, carrying heavy chainswords looking for any sign of disobedience.

The boom of the Artillery behind them shake the Trenches and the plumes of Smoke, mud and orkish Body parts hundreds of meters into the mist are seen even by unaugmented eyes through the morning's heavy mist.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH"

Another screams sounds out, one of rage and a thirst for violence.

"Guardsmen, what do we give?"

"OUR BODIES, OUR HEARTS AND OUR STEEL!"

The voice of the Guardsmen along the whole line would be enough to make enemies shiver in their boots.

"Guardsmen! What do we take from His Enemies?"

"EVERYTHING!"

With the shout, another Artillery barrage sounds out, hitting far closer, and making the mist vanish, revealing the sight of a green tide running towards the trenches.

"GUARDSMEN PRESENT ARMS!"

In the same fluid motion, all Lasguns are laid on the parapets.

Commissar Brand raises his Hellpistol alongside his power sword.

"GIVE THEM HELL, FOR MOTHER KRIEG AND FATHER TERRA AND TO HIM ON THE GOLDEN THRONE"

There is a moment in which all seems to stand still, even the Orks are silent before the entire trenchline erupts into a solid wall of deadly Light, boltshells and autocannon projectiles scything down Orks at a rate unsupportable by anthing but Orks and Tyranids.

A few paltry shots are fired back, but not with the excellent aim of the Guardsmen but with the usual simple vigour of the Ork Boyz, not a single Guardsmen falling, preinstalled Mines blowing up anything that steps on them, each one taking a score of Orks with it.

After what seems like an eternity of death and destruction the Orks pass an invisible line, Brand stops firing and he turns back to his Vox Bead.

"KRIEG REQUIRES OUR HOLY BLOOD, MAKE READY TO CHARGE!"

Only the heavy weapons fire as the entire lines stops, getting ready to jump over the trench wall.

Brands activates the sizzling disruption field of his power blade,

having been in his family for generations, a beautiful one and a half handed bastard sword with thd Imperial Aquilla as its guard.

"CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

As one, the two thousand Guardsmen jump over the wall, a few being thrown back into it as fist sized projectiles punch them from their feet, the Orks are now dangerously close but without another word the Guardsmen charge in silence, only the thud of their heavy combat boots heard over the screams of the Orks, as the lines clash together its like a thundercrack, consummate skill trained on a hundred battlefields against reckless power, forged bayonets and flak coats against thick skin and pieces of formed steel and for a second it looks as if the Orks would just roll over the Guardsmen but as the Commissar entered the battle, powerblade swinging to bisect a large Nob the skill and forged steel win out, a tide of silent black washing over the dirty green, many fall and even more fight on wounded but against the stoic courage of the Death Korps, the Orks reckless screaming looses out.

Brand himself fights Ork after Ork, each one turned to a sizzling mess of Flesh and cauterized skin against the fifty year old, masked Commissar no match against his entires familie's knowledge of swordfighting.

The fighting keeps up for hours and many more fall over the time, only ending as a single Krieg Grenadier jumps at the hordes Waaghboss with a full bandolier of grenades, stabbing his combat blade into its chest and hanging on for dear life before, in a giant explosion, taking the Boss with him.

After the battle, the wounded are brought back, the too heavily wounded are released from their duty, lasguns and other equipment is salvaged and all heads back to the trenchline, fresh reinforcements coming to fill it up, new meat for the grinder that is Adus Secundus.

-

Ave Imperator

Torbas Mann, Chronicler of the 974th Krieg Infantry Regiment, before his reassignment to the Karandian Regiments.


End file.
